


Skin to Skin

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: Gobmas 2020 [8]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Foiled Confessions, Getting Together, Gil Arroyo Whump, Huddling For Warmth, Hypothermia, Love Confessions, M/M, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Trapped, Trapped in a Freezer, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: When Gil and Malcolm find themselves trapped in a freezer courtesy of their current case, there's very little they can do but huddle and wait for help.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Series: Gobmas 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037802
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Skin to Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twice_before_Friday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/gifts).



> As soon as I saw huddling for warmth on your list of likes, I KNEW I had to write this for ya, Friday ;) I hope it's as whumpy and bittersweet and then actually sweet as you woulda hoped!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

He’s numb. Numb and tired, and his mind takes a minute or two to boot up again. He isn’t laying down, which is odd, and he doesn’t remember going to sleep, which is certainly concerning. Malcolm forces his eyes open. 

Oh, right. The case. They’re still in the middle of it, and —

And one of the last things he remembers is finding Gil’s slumped body propped up in one of the industrial freezers in the basement. It’s probably the same one he’s in now, and he’s willing to bet the door ten feet in front of him is locked from the outside. 

(He shouldn’t have let their killer sneak up on him. 

He should have called for help the moment he found Gil. 

He was frozen there, heart in his throat blocking all of the words his mind couldn’t produce, until what he guesses was the butt of a gun made contact with his head.)

Malcolm groans as he shifts. Pinpricks run through his stuff limbs. He puts a hand down to steady himself, but it doesn’t hit the floor as he expected. 

It’s a leg. 

Knowing exactly what he’s going to see, Malcolm follows it up to its owner. 

_Gil_. He was slumped against Gil. Gil, whose temple is just as bloody as it was when Malcolm first found him, though it’s sluggish, clotting. He’s paler, too. Worryingly so. 

Malcolm puts a hand against his forehead, careful not to touch the wound. They’re both too cold for him to understand just how bad their situation is. How long have they been in here? What temperature is this freezer set to? 

Have Dani and JT even realized they’re missing? Service out in this warehouse was bad, so updates were few and far between already. 

Gil makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, his head lolling into Malcolm’s hand. 

“I’ll be right back,” Malcolm says uselessly. Bracing himself against the wall, he manages to get to his feet and hobble over to the door. 

It is, unsurprisingly, locked. 

He bangs on it over and over. Screams for help. 

Behind him, Gil groans and shifts ever so slightly.

And Malcolm realizes he needs to focus on Gil. On getting them both out of here if he can. JT and Dani know where they were. They’ll come eventually and find them. Right? Right. He jams his hands in his pockets, curling them into frigid fists. His phone is gone, too, but he expected that, even if it’s unlikely they’d get service in the basement freezer. He looks around the room. 

Mostly, it’s meat. Packaged and frozen and stacked in neat piles along the shelves. Tucked in the corner, however, are a few drop cloths leftover from something. He scoops those up as best he can with his shaking hands. He knows what to do with these. He remembers his training back at the Bureau, remembers learning about basic first aid for all sorts of situations, remembers learning about hypothermia. 

(He remembers talking about it with his father, too.

Martin found the process _fascinating_.)

When he goes to drop the pile off by Gil, he notices his eyes are open, a weak frown on his face. “Hey,” Malcolm says, so fucking relieved he could cry. “We’re going to be okay. Just sit there, and I’ll figure this out.”

Gil swallows and winces. “You’re a bad liar, kid,” he rasps. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We _might_ be locked in a freezer.” Malcolm glances away from him, focuses on laying down one of the drop cloths right where he was sitting before. 

Gil huffs. “That’d be a problem.”

Malcolm bites his lip. He knows what they should do in order to warm up, and he’s definitely to have to look at Gil to explain that. “Dani and JT will come looking for us,” he insists. “In the meantime, we need to —” He cuts off, brushing his hair back with a trembling hand. 

“Huddle,” Gil says. His hand drifts up to his forehead, but Malcolm stops him with a grip around his wrist. 

He lets go only to rip a strip from his dress shirt. Gently, he pushes past Gil’s weak protests to wrap it around his head and help the bleeding stop. “The best way to do that is with less clothes,” Malcolm says quietly. “Which is why the shirt doesn’t matter.” Not that it ever would. Not in comparison to Gil’s life. 

Malcolm expects a protest. They’ve known each other for so long, Malcolm a child for a good chunk of that time. He expects Gil will take issue with curling up with him mostly naked, for warmth or no. 

Gil tries to tug his sweater over his head. He gets most of it himself, but Malcolm helps him get it off.

The sweater goes on the drop cloth. So do Gil’s slacks. Malcolm arranges them so that they’ll be an added layer between Gil and the freezing floor, and once they’re in place, he coaxes Gil to settle on top of them. His own suit jacket gets draped over the other man’s shoulders, another drop cloth pulled up around it. Then Malcolm strips the rest of the way. Each piece of his own clothing is tucked around Gil’s major arteries. They won’t do much, but he can’t do nothing. He keeps his eyes averted. His movements are quick, clinical. 

When it comes time to actually huddle, however, he stalls. 

Until Gil shivers. 

Malcolm clambors into his lap, the only thing between them their underwear. He pulls the last drop cloth around his back to create a cocoon. Hesitantly, he rests his head on Gil’s shoulders and shivers not from the cold but the touch, though his skin is plenty freezing. They’re pressed up against each other. Their chests are mostly flush. His knees bracket Gil’s hips. 

It’s so intimate. 

Gil wraps his arms around him and holds him close. “They’ll find us,” he murmurs.

Although Malcolm has no idea how much time has passed, he has noticed that Gil is more coherent. Just a little more. It’s a good sign. 

The fact that the team hasn’t found them is not. 

Malcolm hides his frown in the crook of Gil’s neck, aware that he can feel it but thankful he isn’t acknowledging it. Their cocoon isn’t perfect. They don’t have the thick insulated layers of a sleeping bag, just layers of clothes and drop cloths and the body heat shared between them. They won’t last here indefinitely. 

In fact, Malcolm’s not sure if he’s feeling warmer or if he’s no longer feeling the cold as well. Statistics slog through his head. The warehouse is big, too. Their killer could have used their phones to send Dani and JT on a wild goose chase. 

“I can feel your mind turning,” Gil says quietly, tiredly. 

Malcolm pulls away from him enough for his voice to be heard. The words stick in his throat, not out of terror but of grief. He has so many things he wants to say to Gil, and who knows if he’ll ever get the chance if he holds back now. Soon enough, the cold will really set in. They’ll drift to sleep. 

They’ll die. 

“Gil,” he chokes out, “I’m not sure you understand how much you mean to me. I —”

But Gil tucks his head back with a stiff hand. “ _No_. We’re not giving up yet, kid.”

Malcolm closes his eyes and weeps. 

Time passes. 

Minutes are hours. Hours drag out indefinitely. Measurements have ceased to exist. 

Gil’s grip on him has grown weaker. 

Malcolm can barely feel his legs, and he hopes it’s only from kneeling in the same position for so long. He licks his chapped lips. “Gil.”

For just a moment, Gil holds him tighter. “Nuh uh. Haven’t we been over this already?”

But Malcolm isn’t going to let him do this this time. All of the things he never anticipated he would say — at least not anytime soon — are swelling in his chest, and he needs to make sure they’re said before this is over. “You’re my rock,” he continues, raising his voice when Gil tries to stop him again. “You’ve been the one consistent thing in my life. Even when I left, you kept in touch. Gil, you mean so much to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, too,” Gil says, choked up. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, kid.”

 _Kid_. It’s funny how one single word can derail all of the courage he managed to gather. He knew Gil didn’t feel the same way, and for the most part, Malcolm is okay with that. 

Having the evidence right in his face hurts regardless. 

He holds his tongue.

When the shivering stops completely, Malcolm knows they’re in the endgame. There’s been no sign of life outside the freezer. No sounds of people walking above them. 

He and Gil are going to die here, together, embracing. 

“I need to tell you something,” Malcolm says, the words slurred to his own ears. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Gil grasps at him weakly in response. 

“I love you, Gil.” Fuck, he hopes Gil doesn’t get angry. He’d rather they not die hating each other, and the thought alone makes his heart clench. “I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.” 

“Malcolm,” Gil says, and the word is as mournful as it is relieved. He turns his head to kiss Malcolm’s cheek. “Shoulda told me sooner, kid.”

Malcolm feels the tears stinging in his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Me, either.”

Time passes.

The drive in the ambulance is a vague swirl of nonsense. Sounds, touches, being jarred, the gentle kiss of heat.

The agony of feeling coming back to his limbs. 

Malcolm passes out under the gaze of a frantic paramedic, his last thought for Gil.

The first face he sees when he wakes up is Dani’s. She’s scrolling through her phone at a leisurely pace, but each flick is a snap, a quick, tense gesture. Her glazed eyes are pointed down at the screen. 

“Hi,” he croaks out. He’s under quite a few blankets, and, if he’s not mistaken, his IV is filled with warmed saline to help get his temperature up. 

She jumps up to her feet. “Bright!”

“That’s me.” He tries to smile. His face doesn’t quite want to cooperate. “Where’s Gil?”

She slips her phone in her pocket and peeks down the hall. “On his way back.”

Two nurses roll Gil’s bed into the room and hook it up to the wall. He looks exhausted but much less pale, and the cut on his forehead has been carefully stitched up. He smiles at Malcolm wanly. “Powell, you can go now.”

Giving him a look, she shakes her head and leaves. “Sure thing, boss.”

Malcolm makes a soft _a-ha_ noise. “Dani was here to make sure I didn’t freak out if I woke up alone.”

“She volunteered,” Gil tells him. “She and JT are both very worried about you, you know.”

The best part is? He actually believes him now. It’s been a long road to get here, but he does see that JT and Dani care for him. Malcolm ducks his head. “You, too.”

Gil nods. “They’re my family.” He takes a deep breath. “And unless I was hallucinating, you and I are something more.”

 _Are_. That gives him hope. “Do you remember something other than me confessing my feelings for you on our potential deathbed?”

The laugh that Gil gives him is croaky but warming all the same. “You’re definitely a romantic, kid. Why don’t we go simple for the first date?”

Malcolm looks over at him and wishes the beds were close enough to touch. The grin that takes over his face is so wide it hurts. “That sounds like a plan.”


End file.
